Linked
by motherofallrandomness
Summary: Wherein Lord Voldemort gains a new found respect for women. WARNING: Womanly woes.


_**Linked**_

It wasn't supposed to be like this. He was the one who was supposed to be _giving_ the pain, not the one enduring it! Not to say that he wasn't used to pain, no. One does not simply reach his level of power without experiencing pain beyond the wildest imagination. No, he was no stranger to excruciating pain. But this was something else. The pain lingering on his abdomen reared back its ugly head and he let out a low groan, curling up into a tighter ball on his bed as he buried himself deeper within his bed sheets. No, this was definitely something else entirely.

* * *

Hermione Granger groaned in pain as she was being hauled by a snatcher—though for reasons she couldn't be bothered to decipher right now, he seemed to be keeping his distance which she found terribly odd. This was the worst possible time to get caught. She was really not in the mood to deal with any dark wizards right now, or anyone from the male population for that matter. This was their entire fault after all. And they have the audacity to say that women were the weaker sex. As is they could handle even the slightest bit of feminine hardships. They could hardly watch childbirth without turning green, let alone be the ones doing the actual delivering. She tried to stifle a feral growl as a Deatheater roughly took her from the snatcher who seemed to be more than happy to pass her over. Screw wands, the second her hands were free she was going to strangle the nearest male specimen in her vicinity.

Harry Potter and Ron Weasley were conflicted. Sure, there was the fact that someone could just call the Dark Lord meaning their chances of surviving would be dramatically reduced, but at the same time, they couldn't focus on that due to their rather studious avoidance of being within the reach of the only female member of the Golden Trio. At least with Voldemort they would die quickly with the Killing Curse and even if he didn't kill them on sight, the Cruciatus Curse doesn't leave any scar behind—one that was physical anyway. Seeing Hermione grit her teeth and give the evil eye to the nearest male she could see, they gulped, feet shifting and preparing to flee as soon as the opportunity presented itself, their eyes wandering in search for a possible escape route.

It seems that they weren't the only ones aware of the impending doom that has nothing to do with the Dark Lord though. Fenrir Greyback, Scabior and all the other werewolves were scanning Malfoy Manor's receiving halls, looking longingly at the door, most likely trying to come up with a valid excuse to leave the premises. Apparently, their heightened sense of smell can pick up on this. And with the way the way they looked—so anxious you can see them perspiring—it seems that they've seen their fair share of women like this. It must have been really bad if the almost inaudible whimper of the werewolf holding Harry was anything to go by. The poor bloke sounded more like a kicked puppy than the wolf he's supposed to be.

When the Dark Lord finally _did_ make his… _astounding…_ appearance, he did not look as everyone expected him to be. He did not look like some creepy McDonald's mascot on a child's birthday party that somehow, instead of making children jump for joy, end up sending them running for their mothers and begging them to go home. Honestly, whoever thought that the McDonald's costume was child friendly seriously needed to be checked in the nearest asylum as soon as possible.

But back to the initial topic. Instead of the look of sadistic glee that everyone was expecting him to adorn, he looked like he's been constipated for the past few hours. He wasn't standing tall, straight and imposing like he always did either, though if you don't know his usual stance it wouldn't be so obvious. But to those who know him rather well—as well as you can know a Dark Lord—if you squint hard enough, you would see that see that he was a few angles off. One hand was dubiously placed on his lower abdomen. Harry had no idea why, but it seems like now was the time his observation skills decided to make itself known instead of the past few months that he really needed it when trying to avoid running into the occasional Deatheater and getting themselves killed. Somehow he managed to notice that the lower abdomen being held was ironically the very same place Hermione always clutched and that He Who Refuses To Die is also wearing the same expression Hermione would when trying to hide the pain when—

Oh.

 _Oh._

 _ **OH!**_

He didn't really know how he managed to cross that line of thought and why it was even anywhere near that line to begin with, but Harry didn't have time to dwell on it much longer because he was trying to decide whom he should feel more sorry for in this situation; the Dark Lord, his best friend, or the people about to get seriously mouthed off by the latter? He decided on the last option since he belonged in that category.

Before he could carry on with his thoughts, lipless mouth curved into a hateful sneer and blood red eyes glare at him, "Of course you would choose the most inconvenient time to get yourself captures, Potter. Why does this not surprise me?"

Everyone gave the Dark Lord an incredulous look; even Hermione momentarily forgot the raging pain on her abdomen. Since when has any time been 'inconvenient' for Harry Potter to get capture in Lord Voldemort's eyes?

Not long afterwards, the (now) traditional monologue began and Harry was just about to fall asleep to the sound of Voldemort's high pitched voice accusing him for being the cause of every single wrong thing that has ever happened to him sans Dumbledore when another voice jolted him into awareness.

"Oh for the love of mother and child, this is why you never succeed in trying to kill Harry!"

Every head in the room whipped to the direction of the speaker and here was no one more flabbergasted than the dark wizards and witches—werewolves not counting—when they found just who exactly it was that dared to shout at their leader—their eyes all focused on the heavily heaving form of one Hermione Granger.

Even Voldemort seemed to be quite unable to find any other appropriate reaction or words to say other than, "I beg your pardon?"

The brunette witch rolled her eyes, snorting as she did so, "Harry is _right_ _ **there!**_ How could you still even consider giving him lip when your success largely depends on you killing him?! Did it not cross your mind even once that since he's been having such an obscene amount of luck not getting himself killed over the past few years of his life that someone upstairs with dicing magical powers must be helping him and so you have to take up every single opportunity for granted and kill him the second you catch him?!" after catching her breath and seemingly as an afterthought, she turned to her bespectacled best friend and muttered, "Sorry Harry", under her breath.

"Oh no, I'm actually with you in that." Now every head snapped to the boy's direction. The current centre of attention merely shrugged, "What? Don't tell me none of you have ever thought about it?"

Before anyone could make any sense of what insanity their situation ended up in, Hermione and Voldemort simultaneously doubled over in pain, groaning as they held their abdomen.

The Deatheaters immediately released their respective captives to try to tend to their lord. Harry and Ron shifted nervously away from their female friend, opting to join the werewolves in their attempts to scoot as far away from the witch as possible.

With a snarl that would have made Fenrir Greyback proud had he not been too busy coming up with a plan to get himself out of the vicinity as soon as possible, Hermione looked up, "This is all _**your**_ fault!" she screamed, one finger pointing accusingly at the first male organism that her eyes fell upon.

Said male organism just so happened to be the Dark Lord.

Harry and Ron weren't sure if they should be afraid or laugh. They chose to go with the first since the latter would most likely result to their death and they weren't all that certain if it would come from the hands of the Dark Lord or their best friend.

Bellatrix Lestrange took offense for her lord, unsurprisingly, "You filthy little Mudblood! How dare you—"

The aforementioned 'mudblood' snapped her head to the older witch's direction, face strangely serene, "Ever wondered why every month we females need to go through excruciating pain for at least three days and a week at worst? I know you're not menopause yet Madame Lestrange."

Understanding immediately dawning on the usually mentally unstable witch, she nods and backs away slowly. When every single men—sans Harry, Ron and the werewolves of course, they knew from experience why—looked at her in pure astonishment, the black haired witch merely shrugged her shoulders, "Mudblood she may be, but this is a battle I'm fighting on the same side with her. You're with me on this too, right Cissy?"

The blonde witch nodded sagely, understanding the pain the young brunette witch was going through. She even gave Hermione a compassionate look before proceeding to give her husband the glare of the century.

Lucius , suddenly understanding what the outburst was all about—years of marriage will give you so much information about your spouse—gulped and proceeded to inch towards the exit along with the wolves. _'So that's why none of them wanted to be within reaching space with the girl.'_

The accused merely glared at the girl, trying not to focus on the sheer pain that suddenly flared in his abdomen, "It is no fault of mine that you allowed your friends and yourself to be captured, girl. You—"

Hermione cut him off before he could finish insulting her, "No, you daft specimen! I am _not_ mentally eradicating your existence right now because you're the Dark Lord! I'm doing it because you male!"

The silence that followed was deafening. Dark wizards turned to their female counterparts for an explanation but abruptly casted their gazes away when they were met with scorching glares, eyes accusing and obviously in cahoots with whatever the famed Gryffindor Princess was going on about.

It seems that she wasn't done yet either, "This is your entire fault! If it weren't for you men, we women needn't suffer like this very month! And stop looking at them; they won't help you on this one! And to think, all this pain just because—ooooh….." unable to finish her ranting due to the pain, Hermione let out a pitiful whimper, curling into a tight ball, earning sympathetic looks from every single female occupant of the room. They all go through this.

What drew everyone's attention away from Hermione though, was how the darkest wizard of all times seemed to be in a very similar state of pain.

Hermione, dreading to be proven right for the very first time in her life, tentatively ran a hand through her hair and, when they inevitably got caught in the tangled mess, pulled harshly—hard enough to hurt but not enough to remove a few strands from their roots.

"Bloody hell, I have no hair, how could that possibly even hurt?!" Voldemort hissed and his face scrunched up in pain.

He tried to hold it in, truly he did. But he just couldn't, and so Harry Potter allowed himself to laugh at how ridiculous this entire situation is.

Ron was clueless. That's not really anything new.

Fenrir and his fellow Snatchers knew better than to react.

Dark wizards were aware of most the situation yet at the same time unsure where the problem really lied.

The witches were all sporting strangely triumphant looks.

Hermione wasn't quite sure whether the newfound bond that seemed to have formed out of nowhere was a good thing or a bad thing. Technically, this would mean that when— _when_ , not if, she was sure they could do this—they finally managed to defeat the dark wizard who seriously needed to bathe in some vitamin D, she will most likely go down with him. But at the same time, if he attempted to kill Harry, she could just threaten him with suicide. Even if he locks her up in a room with no possible item to help her in fulfilling said threat, she could always just hold her breath and suffocate herself. Then there was also the additional bonus that he could feel her pain.

 _He could feel her pain._

 _ **He could feel her pain.**_

Oh this was so bittersweet.

The evil ring leader of this crazy circus, where everyone seemed to be required to wear the shade—it's not a colour—black, didn't seem to find their situation as amusing as some did, obviously thinking along the same line as she was, hence, why she hasn't seen any pretty green lights being thrown her way, "What is this pain, little girl? You will explain yourself!"

Hermione rolled her eyes and then, with equal—if not more—vehemence in her voice, "This pain is what every woman has to go through every one week of every single month for your sake!" once again with the accusing finger.

"Me?!" came the incredulous voice of the Dark Lord, "Why would _**I**_ have anything to do with—"

"Ugh! No, you racist hypocrite!" if Hermione wasn't in enough pain as it was, she would have pulled at her hair, "Didn't you hear what I just said earlier?! I said it has nothing to do with you personally or even being the bleeding Dark Lord! It's because you're a member of the male population! You men are more than half the reason why women are in pain! We have to go through this every month so we could prepare our bodies when we get impregnated, then have to go through nine months of pain, raging hormones and morning sickness, all the while carrying another person inside us! But it doesn't end there! Oh no! After those gruelling nine months, when the time comes, we have to push something the size of a fully ripe watermelon out of something the size of an eye! And if that doesn't work, they have to cut up our bellies in half just to get your developed sperm out and then stitch us back together again like some bloody ragdoll!"

By the end of Hermione's rant, the hall was eerily quiet. Draco was looking pale, even by his standards. Lucius looked like he was waiting for the floor to just open and swallow him whole, casting a very nervous glance at Narcissa's direction every now and then. The Malfoy matriarch herself looked like she was itching to cruciate her husband any second now.

With a jolt of pain, Voldemort regained his bearings, "I care very little to not at all for your womanly woes, Mudblood. Mark my words, I _will_ find a way to be rid of this…this… _curse_ , and when I do, you will beg for death! As of the moment, make-it- _ **STOP!**_ "

"I can't stop a natural occurrence in my anatomy, you walking mass of complexes! Pepper-up potions don't work; otherwise we wouldn't even be having this problem! Furthermore—"

Severus Snape went in through the door that shut immediately—much to the dismay of the male population in the hall—and froze at the scene that greeted him.

The people were parted like the red sea; the men were on one end whilst the women are on the other. Confusion quickly melting into horrified realization when he saw the Know-It-All Gryffindor Princess clutching her abdomen in an all too familiar fashion, he slowly inched his way back to head to the door when he felt a hand grab him and dragged him back inside.

Rodolphus Lestrange lugged him along until he was on 'their side' of the 'battle field'.

"Oh no, you are _not_ going to escape and leave us all here. You're going to suffer along with us." And Severus felt ice flow through his veins.

Hermione let out another pitiful whimper; it was soon followed by Lord Voldemort's low groan of pain.

Turning his heated glare to the general direction of his female followers, who seemed to all but turn against him, he seethed, "Do something about this!"

After much nudging on her comrades' part, Bellatrix was chosen to speak on their behalf, "My most sincere apologies my Lord. But this is not a battle anyone can win. Everyone loses one way or another."

With no little amount of irritation, Voldemort conjured a wine bottle cork of some sort to Hermione, who then eyed the item before turning her confused gaze to the offending item's conjurer, "What am I supposed to do with this?" she asked as she picked up the cork and examined it in her hand.

"Use it to stop the blood from leaking, of course."

A full ten seconds passed before Hermione, face red with indignation, screamed, "Are you insane?! Oh wait, don't answer that. Are you seriously expecting me to use that thing to block my vagina from leaking blood?! Do you want me to get vaginal and urethral infection?! This is why muggle science should be taught to the wizarding world! If you knew you would understand!" a wide discussion and explanation of human biology was conducted. By the end if her rant, nearly everyone could hear ringing in their ears. And for every witch and wizard unaware of muggle science, a new set of knowledge regarding the human anatomy was gained.

"So, these pads and tampons, they just absorb all the blood and then you can just throw them away? And they're easy to come by?" Alecto Carrow inquired after Hermione's long speech. When she received and incredulous look from her twin, she snapped, "What?! You want me to have you clean the cloths I use for my monthly visit?! Just say the word and it's done!" Amycus wisely held his tongue. No one bothered to make any comment as to why the Carrow twins still lived together despite being years above marrying age. They were deprived of enough sleep as it is.

"Oh yes!" Hermione perked up, eager to share a few reliefs to her fellow members of the fairer sex, and turned to the unfortunate soul who was currently holding her beaded bag, "Give it!" she snapped. The Snatcher all but threw the bag at her as if it suddenly caught on fire.

The young brunette caught her bag with ease and then fished out one of her pads and tampons that were underneath all the books and clothes she stashed in. The witches around crowded Hermione and the only non-Deatheater witch (apart from Narcissa) began her explanation of how to use her 'muggle devices'. The surrounding witches all had a look of fascination about them, not minding that it was a muggle invention at all as long as it made their menstrual cycle more tolerable.

All the while, the wizards in attendance were discussing how to get themselves out of the manor, preferably safely.

"Severus! You're the smart one and the one with experience with all the sneak with the spy business! Do something!"

"Shut up Rodolphus! You and Lucius are the ones who have wives; _you_ should know how to deal with women in these situations."

"Narcissa hexes me out of our room the second she sees even a glimpse of my person. And I was informed and under the impression that it's different for every women."

"I try to stay out of Bella's cursing range lest she Avada's my arse. Knowing her, she'll find a way to resurrect me just for the sake of killing me again for getting myself killed in the first place."

"Well, what are we supposed to do?"

"Potter, you've had an obscenely huge amount of luck, maybe you can talk to them and all the curses they send your was would miraculously miss?"

"Malfoy, there is no one else in the world with a better aim than a PMSing woman. Except pregnant ones, their aim is God-level and is as certain to hit like one of those cheats in RPG games."

"I remember Bill and Charlie tell me that whenever Mum was pregnant and was trying to hex Dad. They said she had her eyes closed, firing hexes left and right…and still all of them managed to hit Dad one way or another."

General shuddering of the male population.

As the men all shared their own horror stories about pregnant wives, PMSing girlfriends, friends, sisters and cousins, Lord Voldemort had gained a brand new respect for the female race. Maybe he was going about this whole world domination thing the wrong way? Maybe he should just recruit women, get their husbands to impregnate them, and then send them to the front lines? He was pretty sure that with the way his Deatheaters and even Potter were reacting, no one would even show up in the final battle.

His eyes traveled to the witch that was in the centre of all the other witches, then tilted his head in thought, an idea swimming its way into his head.

Maybe he could have this war won easier than it should be.

 *****~FIN~*****

* * *

 **AN:/ I'm so sorry but I just couldn't help it. I had to write it down and I feel so...high. I'm supposed to be doing a ton of projects for my finals but here I am. Sorry for the errors if there are any but I couldn't be bothered to fix them right now. I'm such a horrible person...**

 **R/R please!**


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